by Meg Benjamin
“I do.” She nodded. “But it’s…a very big step.” She sighed again. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m a basket case, I know. Thanks for being so patient with me.”
Kit gave her shoulders a quick hug. “You’re my favorite aunt, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do. But if you’re going to go ahead with this, it’s time to get a move on.”
Allie took a deep shuddering breath. “You’re right. It’s time to put up or shut up. And I want to put up. What do you need me to do?”
“Write a check for the Woodrose so Mabel Morgenstern doesn’t give your date to somebody else. Then leave the rest to me.”
Allie nodded, wiping tears away from the corners of her eyes. “I can do that. Do you think anybody will want to come to this wedding? I mean it’s only five weeks away now.”
Kit leaned her forehead against her aunt’s dark curls. “Aunt Allie, believe me, the entire family will be here with husbands, wives, children and every significant other they can scare up. To say nothing of all the people in Konigsburg who’ve been waiting for this to happen. I only hope the Woodrose event center is big enough to hold everybody who’ll want to see you and Steve get married.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing her aunt smile, which was enough to put the butterflies in her stomach to sleep for the night. But she left the kitchen with the image of Allie, still seated at her kitchen table, staring out into the night.
Chapter Eight
Dream Kit sat across the table from Nando, staring out at the landscape beyond the balcony. He didn’t recognize the place—probably some dreamscape his subconscious had pulled out of an old movie. The sun was setting in front of them, turning the ocean waves a glorious scarlet and rose.
“I love you,” he said.
Dream Kit didn’t look at him. She was wearing something soft and billowing, white against her golden skin. He could see the smooth lines of her body through the fabric. Her profile stood out sharply against the brilliant sunset.
“I love you,” he repeated.
Dream Kit’s gaze stayed focused on the horizon. Her lips turned up in the faintest of smiles, as if she were thinking of something pleasant. Maybe she didn’t know he was there. Maybe she didn’t care.
“Kit,” he murmured. “Please.”
Below them the waves rolled to the shore, the sound distant and rhythmic. Dream Kit ignored him. Maybe he didn’t exist after all.
“Catarina…”
Blaaaaaaat!
Nando’s eyes flew open. He swatted the top of the clock with the flat of his hand, shutting off the alarm.
Guinevere regarded him steadily from the foot of the bed before opening her mouth in a gaping yawn.
Nando sighed, flopping back against his pillow again. “Morning, Bozo. How did you get in here again?”
Guinevere rose smoothly to her feet, stretching from her haunches to her tail. As usual, she ignored him, thumping heavily to the floor and stalking majestically toward his partially open door.
He still couldn’t figure out how she managed to get it open every night. Maybe she was concealing a pair of thumbs somewhere around the apartment.
Right. Thinking about the stupid cat is a great diversion.
He sighed again. He’d had the same damn dream for three nights running now. It always went the same way too. He kept saying I love you, and Dream Kit seemed to be totally unaware of his existence.
He had no idea what it meant. All he could say for sure was that it left him both miserable and hard, which was a really shitty way to start the day.
In reality, of course, he’d never told her he loved her. Except in those last panicked messages on her voice mail that she might never have heard. Yet another one of his screw-ups, part of the whole epic screw-up that was his relationship with Kit Maldonado.
He should have told her. At least, he should have tried.
“Hindsight,” he muttered. “Always dead on.”
He pushed himself out of bed, pulling the spread up over the tangled sheets. Guinevere regarded him impassively from the corner next to the door as she gave herself a quick wash. He also had no idea how he’d come to acquire his very own feline BFF, but for some reason the cat had decided to bond with him.
Oh well, at least one female felt like doing that.
“C’mon, Bozo,” he muttered. “Time for breakfast.”
Kit stood in the doorway of the Rose, watching Elaine try to take care of a table of four. She got two of the orders mixed up, but the people at the table seemed pretty good-natured about it. And at least this time she remembered to fill their water glasses. Of course, she also forgot to ask the two customers who had ordered wine if they wanted another glass. Kit caught a couple of eye-rolls. She’d have to grab Elaine before she moved on to serving the two-top at the side of the room and then pour the wine before she forgot all about it.
Kit had become the restaurant’s de facto sommelier when she’d realized, somewhere around her first day, that Elaine seemed unable to fill a simple wine order without bringing the wrong bottle or misusing the corkscrew. And putting a sharp implement in Philip’s hands while he was serving some of his more demanding customers seemed like a very poor idea. At some point, she’d have to show Elaine how to open a wine bottle correctly, but right now it was just easier to do it herself.
At least Elaine was now managing to get her salads to the tables before the entrées most of the time, something Kit had already had to caution her about twice. Philip was putting the food out with his usual stone-faced efficiency. Kit had decided by the end of her first week that getting Philip to smile was definitely not part of her job description.
She sighed, pulled Elaine aside to remind her about the wine, and grabbed an iced tea pitcher to take care of a couple of refills before heading off to find the right wine bottle. Gabriel gave her his usual leer, but she ignored him. His libido fell under the same heading as Philip’s lack of smile—not worth her effort to correct.
At least the rush had begun to subside and it hadn’t been as hectic as some days. Since Brenner’s didn’t serve lunch, the Rose had the upscale trade all to themselves, assuming the lunchers in question didn’t mind driving half a mile out of town to the inn. Judging from their capacity seating over the past week from eleven thirty until one thirty, most people in town didn’t see that as a difficulty.
Kit ran credit cards for Elaine and gave Phillip change, careful to include a lot of small bills in the probably vain hope that they’d leave him a decent tip. She’d heard him grumbling about his take-home pay a couple of days ago. Yet he hadn’t seemed to make the connection between his surly demeanor and the amount of money his customers left behind.
The last few diners lingered over their drinks, gazing at the afternoon sunlight dappling the smooth green lawn outside the French doors. By next month the temperature would be spiking into the eighties on most days, but for the moment it was still relatively pleasant. The Rose’s gorgeous location was one of its biggest attractions, and she figured they’d start outside seating in another week or so, provided she could convince Mabel to let her hire another waiter.
Kit heard the swish of a door opening, and watched Joe LeBlanc saunter out of the kitchen and through the dining room. A few diners looked after him curiously. Apparently, he wasn’t yet as well known to civilians as he was to the town’s professional foodie population.
“Hey darlin’,” he drawled. “How’s things? Lunch crowd happy?”
“Doing well. Looks like the roasted corn chowder was a hit.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He wiped his damp face with a napkin, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the hostess desk. “Ran out halfway through. Have to maybe move that higher into the rotation. We didn’t do as well with the mahi mahi, though. I’m still getting a feel for our customers, I guess.”
“I’d say you’re doing fine.” Kit watched Gabriel clear another table. “We’re doing major business, and the crowd is getting bigger every day. I’m going to talk to Mabel abou
t getting another busboy and at least one more server. People should concentrate on the food instead of grousing about the service.”
“Yeah, that’s the least of what we need—experienced waiters would be a nice change. And we could use a pastry chef too. Maybe we should double-team her—you broach the subject and I’ll go in for the kill.”
Kit leaned back on the desk beside him. “I also need to talk to you, as a matter of fact.”
His mouth spread in a slow grin. “Oh yeah? What about, darlin’?”
Kit grimaced. “About the menu for my aunt’s wedding. I just scheduled her into the event center because there was a cancellation. It’s at the middle of next month, and I don’t even know what we can set up in the way of food when we don’t have that much time.”
“Miz Allie’s getting married?” His smile broadened. “Hell, every foodie in the Hill Country will probably show up. We’ll have to do something special for her. And a month’s plenty of time to come up with some good stuff, believe me.”
Kit felt like a large weight had lifted from her shoulders for the first time since she’d talked to Allie the night before. “Really? That’s such a relief.”
“I’ll do her proud, Scout’s honor.” He sketched a quick cross on his broad chest.
“I believe you.” Kit glanced back across the restaurant with its muted colors, the rolling green hills stretching beyond the French doors. “This has such potential. It’s a beautiful location and your food is spectacular. All it needs is a couple of nudges to become a destination restaurant.”
She blinked. Where on earth had that statement come from?
LeBlanc narrowed his eyes. “You interested in nudging, darlin’?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Sometime. Right now I’ve got a wedding to plan. When can we go over the menus?”
“How about this evening, after everything clears out?”
Joe’s blue eyes seemed to darken. Kit felt her own pulse thump. Danger, danger Will Robinson!
“Um…okay. You mean look at the menus here?”
“Nope. I usually get out of here as soon as I can.” He had that knowing grin again, the one she kept meaning to tell him was annoying.
Kit licked her lips, ready to explain that she couldn’t go to his house or his apartment or his trailer, wherever it was.
His grin didn’t falter. “How about we go catch some dinner at that tavern where Clem Rodriguez cooks? I’ve been meaning to check it out anyway.”
“You mean the Faro?” She suddenly felt slightly idiotic for assuming he was interested in anything more than talk. Hell, for all she knew he might not be interested in women at all, although given his grin, that was probably wishful thinking on her part. “Sure. That’ll be fun. I know the people there.”
“All right then. I’ll meet you there around seven—got to take care of some business here before I leave.”
“Okay, good.” She managed a grin that she hoped looked more friendly than relieved. “I’ll see you then.”
Taking Clayton Delaney to the Faro always made Nando feel a little like he was corrupting a minor. Tom had carded him the first time he’d come in, and he looked like he was considering doing it again.
Delaney, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. The Steinbruner brothers still hadn’t figured out that they’d never be able to beat him at pool, and Clayton was finishing off a bottle of Avery White Rascal and cleaning their clocks without a dip in his angelic smile. Once upon a time, Nando might have tried to lay a few side bets, but by now everybody in the Faro knew about Delaney, and of course only someone seriously near-sighted or incurably optimistic would bet on the Steinbruners.
He leaned back against the bar and took a sip of his beer, an IPA with a full body that tasted like you could spread it on crackers. “So where’s this one from?”
Tom shrugged, turning away from Deirdre reluctantly. “Colorado.”
Nando’s stomach gave a rumble, reminding him he hadn’t yet gotten dinner. “You got any nachos tonight?”
Deirdre narrowed her eyes. “We do dinner now, you know. Clem’s back there cooking up a full menu. If she finds out you ordered pre-made nachos instead of her chicken Acapulco, she’s liable to skin you.” She grinned up at him. “I can take your order back to the kitchen. Just tell me what you want.”
Tom scowled in her direction. “You’re not waiting tables anymore, Deirdre. You were up at five to open the roaster. You need to take it easy in the evening.”
“Yes, sweetheart, I got the memo.” She gave him a dry smile. “But this isn’t a table, it’s a barstool. And it won’t take me any time at all. What do you want to eat, Nando?”
He shrugged. What he really wanted was nachos, but he figured keeping the peace was worth a compromise. “A burger, I guess. That won’t get me in trouble with Clem, will it?”
“She’d probably rather serve you her chicken, but she still does great burgers.” Deirdre pushed off her barstool and headed for the kitchen.
Tom watched her go with an expression of dazed appreciation that Nando found vaguely annoying. “Why the hell don’t you just ask her to marry you and get it over with?” he growled.
Tom frowned. “I already did. We’re working on a date. What’s got your back up?”
“Nothing.” He took another sip of the IPA, wishing he had something lighter. His stomach gave a quick twinge. “Everything. Hell, I’d still rather have the nachos.”
“So what’s new with the bookstore break-in?”
“Nothing much. I guess they’re reopening next week.”
“So I hear.” Tom turned to fill an order for one of the barmaids.
Nando stared across the room again. Slow night. Nobody around. No Kit, anyway.
As if he’d conjured her up, Kit walked through the door, pushing the silken fall of dark hair away from her face. His pulse gave an unsettling thump, and he wondered if he should do anything about it. Like maybe go over and find a table for her.
She looks tired. Maybe she’d like a beer.
He started to move forward off the barstool, but she stayed standing in the doorway, peering around the room as if she were looking for someone.
A quick shiver moved down his backbone. Looking for someone. Maybe if he’d gotten lucky all of a sudden, she might be looking for him. It was always possible. He started to step forward again, as the door opened behind her.
The man who stepped inside was a stranger, a very large stranger. Well over six feet, muscled, wearing a loose jacket over a plaid shirt and slightly rumpled black pants. He had a well-trimmed beard and moustache, and his shaved head gleamed in the dim light of the Faro. Nando thought he saw the glint of an earring.
Kit glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the newcomer.
Nando felt the ache all the way to his toes. What did you expect? You knew she’d find somebody. You knew it wouldn’t be long. He knew, but he hadn’t let himself think about it much.
You knew it wouldn’t be you. Yeah, that much he’d definitely known.
Tom leaned back on the bar, glancing toward the doorway. “Who’s that with Kit?”
Nando shook his head. “Never saw him before. Maybe he’s somebody she knows from the Woodrose.”
“Maybe. Clem might know.”
“Clem might know what?” Deirdre slid onto her stool again. “Your burger will be out in a minute.”
Kit and the big man moved across to a table at the side of the room. Nando fought the urge to check his ID, just on general principles.
“Who the guy is with Kit. Have you ever seen him before?”
Deirdre glanced at the side of the room, frowning. “No, not really.” She gave Nando a keen-eyed look that was too perceptive by half.
If he hadn’t already ordered a burger, he’d have headed out the door. As it was, he’d lost any appetite he might have had. “I should have ordered fries,” he grumbled.
“They come with the burger. Do you want me to find out who that is?”
&n
bsp; He shrugged, doing his best imitation of indifference. “Whatever.”
Deirdre shook her head, letting him know his imitation hadn’t worked, and headed off toward the kitchen. Tom had busied himself at the other end of the bar. Nando wondered if his pariah status would last all night, or just until the guy’s identity was nailed down and people stopped worrying that he might pick him up on a fugitive warrant.
Not that he would. Not that he wasn’t tempted.
The kitchen door swung open and Deirdre headed back to the bar again, carrying a tray with his burger and fries. She gave him a questioning look.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay, who is it?”
“Joe LeBlanc. The head chef at the Rose.”
Nando felt a momentary relaxing of the tightness in his chest. “So they work together.”
“Right.” Deirdre’s smile turned slightly wicked. “Of course, that’s what Tom and I used to do. Work together.”
He occupied himself with putting pickle and onion onto his burger. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about bad breath tonight. The only one who was likely to be around him was Guinevere, and she didn’t seem to notice what he smelled like.
He took a savage bite out of his dinner.
Joe made a quick survey of the Faro while he pulled out Kit’s chair. Good-sized main room. Pool tables at one side, carved mahogany bar across the opposite wall. Around twenty tables, and it looked like they had a large patio, maybe for performances when the weather was more reliable.
All in all, he was inclined to agree with Clem’s claim that the place was potentially a gold mine. Not that they did the kind of food that was his specialty, but it was the type of place where he liked to hang out after hours. He was as fond of a good burger as the next man.
Particularly when that good burger could be shared with a beautiful woman.
Kit Maldonado was, in fact, one very beautiful woman. The most stunning woman he’d seen in a long time. Dark curling hair that fell slightly below her shoulders. Eyes the color of strong coffee, with a faint almond shape. High, sculpted cheekbones and full lips.
